Bonus? Yes!
by ashestoashesanddusttodust
Summary: A collection of drabbles for Bonus Round 1 of the Marvel Shipping Games: crossovers.
1. Resident Evil: ClintNatasha

**Bonus? Yes!  
><strong>

**A Word**: The Marvel Shipping Games on Dreamwidth is holding a bonus round where teams can earn points for writing drabbles for crossover prompts. This series is the result of that round. Request for Nat and Clint crossed with Resident Evil. I thought Nat would make a kick ass Alice, and that there was always some gorgeous UST stuff between her and Matt.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

"Umbrella wants to sell this," Clint says, voice low and intense as he stares her down. He's desperate, she can read that in his face, and willing to do anything he needs to. He'll be easy to exploit this way.

Natasha doesn't know how she recognizes that look, or why she would need to exploit Clint. Her memory is still a blank slate that she's beginning to think hides an awful amount of blood tainted memories.

The people -the _creatures_- moan and throw themselves at the locked door they're all huddled behind. The hollow banging of it is becoming background noise. Just like Stark's cursing as he tries to bring the Red King AI back online. Partially, because no one wants to deal with the homicidal program with full control of the facility again.

"They want to let this out into the world," Clint mutters for her ears alone as Jasper moves over to help Stark. His memory is as blank as her own, but something in this room seems to have resonated with him. Just as the guns under the glass safe back at the house had resonated with her. "Can you imagine that? Can you imagine _this_ running free?"

Natasha can. She can imagine it very vividly and the images sicken her to a degree that she hopes means more than she's trying to make it mean. She doesn't want to think that she is the type of person that could casually stand by and allow something like _this_ to go unchecked in the world at large.

Calloused fingers circle her wrist and press into her flesh. Light but insistent and Natasha looks away from the rotting face of what used to be a man. Clint's eyes are an amazingly blue color with flecks of green and light brown dotting them. It gives his intense gaze even more weight, and Natasha wonders if he knows that. If he uses it to his advantage.

"Help me stop them," Clint says, because it's not really a question. Not as far as Natasha is concerned. There is no other response possible.

"We're getting out of here," Natasha promises, and her words echo a little too loudly in the room. Stark falters, Carter smiles grimly, and Jasper glances around. Natasha lowers her voice so the last bit of her statement won't be heard by anyone else but Clint. "They'll pay for this. I promise."

.

.


	2. Hannibal: PeterWade

**Bonus? Yes!  
><strong>

**A Word**: Some SpideyPool crossed with Hannibal the TV series. Wade definitely has enough wires crossed to take the role of the good doctor and run with it. Peter I think would be a cross between Will (mostly) and Freddie (because cameras).

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

"Cannibal is such a harsh word," Wade drawls out when Peter Parker wakes up. Slow and groggy in a way that means he mixed the drugs up a little bit on the strong side again. Just a little, _tiny_ infinitesimal amount that Peter's not going to like him too much for when the nausea kicks in.

**Shut up. You don't get to judge his work. _You_ probably would have mixed up a nice cocktail of _death_ because you know even less about drugs and their use of incapacitating tabloid reporters than he does.**

_Focus!_

"Right. I prefer the more politically correct term of carnivore myself. I mean, _cannibal_ just implies certain things that aren't true at all!" Wade makes himself at home on the bed, a _single_ and that's just too depressing to think about! What was Peter going to do if he ever got lucky?

Hope his booty call was under five feet each time? Sure, the little people could get really freaky in the sack, but even they'd need more room than this to really get going. "Like people are all that I eat and a man just isn't a man if he gives up the heavenly mana that is bacon if you know what I mean."

Peter knows what he means. Wade can see it in his eyes above where the straps of the ball-gag cut into his face. A bit tight, but Wade knows how Peter likes his witty rejoinders and he has a point to make here! Wade grins down at him for his silent agreement. It just shows what he's always known. Reporters are much nicer in person than their inflammatory articles give them credit for being.

**No they're not.**

"Shut up. Not you," Wade pats the frustrated face of Peter as he tries to chew his way through the gag, and reaches up to test the bindings keeping the reporter tied to the bed. "You're fine, more than fine really. Fine enough to bring home to dinner with my Mama, but we're not going to get into that until you up your crib here and get a bed big enough for us to _really_ ruin. Mama Wilson didn't raise no loser and you're going to have to put some money out before I put out."

** **No he won't.** **

True, but Wade didn't have to let Peter know that! It might give the man incentive to fix the place up a bit. He had to be making some decent money from all those articles he wrote about Wade after all. They were so popular with the public at large. Especially since he started going out of his way to cut Peter in on the action. Give him an exclusive scoop so to speak.

Peter makes an unintelligible noise that Wade takes for agreement. "Exactly! Anyway, I'm running a little late on my schedule here, honey. So I just wanted to let you know I'll be late for dinner tonight. No more than an hour or two though. Cross my heart and hope someone else dies!"

Wade bounces up to his feet and blows a kiss to Peter before heading out the open window and onto the rusty fire escape. Peter understood, he wouldn't hold his tardiness against him.

** **Aren't you forgetting something?** **

"Am I forgetting- Oh! Yeah, that," Wade scrambles back up to stick his head into Peter's room and gives the man a sheepish grin. "Sorry, sorry. I almost forgot! Pier seven at the docks, just look for the blue boat. Well, it's mostly rust I guess, but you can totally tell it used to be blue."

Location delivered, Wade jumps back down the stairs of the fire escape with renewed urgency. He's got two maybe three hours to arrange everything just right for his Peter and there's so very many things he has to finish before the man gets free from those handcuffs.

.

.


	3. Paper Towns: ClintNatasha

**Bonus? Yes!  
><strong>

**A Word**: Clint/Nat crossover with Paper Towns by John Green. With an alteration to the end that I think fits these two as people better.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

She doesn't need his help. Clint accepts this fact slowly and reluctantly. Natasha hasn't ever _needed_ him for anything, and Bucky had probably tired to tell him that on their trip to find her. He'd known her the longest and maybe Clint should have listened to his crappy warnings instead of blocking him out along with Steve's strangely effective flirting.

It'd been too easy though to focus in on Bruce's directions and push Bucky's words to the back of his mind. He was on a mission to _save_ Natasha after all. What more did he need to know?

Except, it turns out, Natasha seems to be doing a good job of saving herself from absolutely nothing.

Natasha blends into the shadows and Clint can only see parts of her. The flash of her eyes, and the shifting of her hair as silence drags the weight of the world down between them. Clint feels stupid now, and it's worse because he was feeling so damn smart just an hour ago. Following clues that weren't really clues to find a person who never wanted to be found.

Her future is uncertain but she unquestionably has one, and Clint finds the thought of it depressing beyond all reason.

He's spent so much time invested in saving a persona that wasn't even real. He's missed his own graduation on something that only mattered to him. It's no wonder that Bruce, Steve, and Bucky are so pissed. They'd bought into what Clint sold them and now won't even be able to say they made their own graduations.

But did _he_ really miss anything?

Barney's still an occasional phone call and infrequent postcards that give nothing away about returning home. Mom has finally become the cardboard cutout that Barney always used to accuse her of being before he left. Dad, well, he's just lost his job again and Clint doesn't think there's going to be anymore pity hirings until the old man can manage to stay dry for more than a few hours at a time.

Natasha has never needed him, but Clint wonders if maybe he's the one who needed her.

"Hey," Clint breaks the silence between them and Natasha tilts her head towards him. "New York. Can I come with you?"

She studies him with shadowed eyes and the smile that quirks her lips up isn't one he's ever seen on her before. It fits her better than the sweet smiles or the bright ones he's always seen her wear before.

.

.


	4. Silence of the Lambs: ClintNatasha

**Bonus? Yes!  
><strong>

**A Word**: Prompt was for Clint/Nat and Hannibal. No series specified (though it's kinda obvious they wanted TV, oops) so I thought I'd put Nat in Clarice's shoes for a bit. Just a teeny-tiny bit before SHIELD came in.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

He doesn't look dangerous or deranged is Natasha's first thoughts when meeting the infamous cannibal serial killer, Clint Barton.

Barton stands from his cot -bolted to the wall- when she first approaches his cell. He smiles at her and it's a warm smile that's inviting and honest in a way she doesn't see too much anymore. He's not a large and physically imposing man that one would think capable of the many things he's been charged with. A second, closer, look at his arms puts the lie to that impression though. Even under the loose cloth of the uniform he wears the muscles in his arms are very apparent.

"Mr. Barton," Natasha starts to say, and gets cut off quickly.

"Clint," his smile is wry and a touch sheepish as he shrugs in a move that's fluid and disarmingly simple. "Mr. Barton was my old man, and I'd rather not think about that bastard."

Barton steps forward, as close to her as he can get with the bars, plexiglass, and an actual netting will allow. His smile turns charming and Natasha notes distantly that it's the kind of charm that would turn her head in almost any other setting. "And who are you? I don't get visitors much anymore. A few tabloid vultures or a desperate psych student. All looking for some shock to sell. Can't say I get too many feds asking to see me anymore. Who sent you?"

Natasha isn't wearing anything to identify where she's coming from, and has in fact done her best to dress like a reporter coming for an interview. The orderly who let her in and instructed her on the protocols of the interview had assured her Barton knew nothing of her coming. In his isolated cell she doubts that the man would have simply overheard something.

He's sharp. Just like Director Fury said he would be, and Natasha doesn't let that rattle her.

"I'm Agent Natasha Romanov, FBI," Natasha lets the lies flow from her mouth and wonders how many Barton will pick up on. "I was sent to ask you about a few things about a case. If you're interested in hearing them."

She tacks on the last part even though it wasn't in the script she'd rehearsed so thoroughly under Fury's orders. She already has a better sense of the serial killer now that she's seen him, and what she sees is boredom. An insatiable curiosity burns in the blue eyes carefully watching her and Barton's smile loses some of its charm for an edge that would have made Natasha follow him home instantly in any other setting.

"I'm listening, _Agent_," Barton says and there's enough of a spin on the title to make anticipation start to drum up in her. Maybe there's more potential here than she was willing to give Fury credit for. "Give me your best offer."

Natasha does, and fifteen minutes later they're pulling away from the highly guarded facility that was supposed to be impenetrable. Barton looks at home in the back of the SUV in his yellow uniform and the charm is back in full force as he reads through the mission files and contract Fury has laid out for him. "Pen?"

She hands him a black ink pen and one calloused finger brushes her index finger before he's sitting back. The pen hovering over the paper but not moving as he fixes her with a look. "The contract states I will be working in a paired unit."

It's a question and Natasha allows herself to smile back at Barton. Allows some of her own edges to shine through. "You will be working with me, Barton."

"Clint," the contract is signed even before the last bits of his name roll off his tongue. "You're going to have to learn to call me by that if we're going to work together."

"We'll see," Natasha takes the paperwork from him and hands it up to an agent in the front seat. She has very little doubt she'll end up calling Barton by his given first name before the month is out, but she's going to make him work for it.

The grin he gives her response lets her know that it's a challenge the man will enjoy.

.

.


	5. Harry Potter: DarcyLoki

**Bonus? Yes!  
><strong>

**A Word**: Loki/Darcy was asked for in Hogwarts. Threw in some Jane/Thor too just because, and, yes, Darcy would call dibs. She'll even lick him so that no one else tries to touch him.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

"Oh, wow. Durmstrang sure knows how to grow its students," Darcy notes aloud with extreme pleasure as she watches the students disembarking from the Durmstrang ship with a fanfare that she now thinks suits them rather well. It was pompous at first but now that she has a clearer vision of the students she feels it is entirely justified.

"Hush!" Jane says out of the side of her mouth in a hiss that's far louder than Darcy's simple observation was. Professor Coulson twitches a few yards away but doesn't bother look their way. Not yet at least. They're going to have to work a bit harder to be enough of a nuisance to make him break the formal stand he's taken.

"You hush," Darcy nudges her best friend and not so subtly points at one of the students. A tall guy with blonde hair and muscles like _whoa_. "You can't tell me _that_ right there doesn't look like something you could just eat right up."

"Darcy, stop!" Jane protests but Darcy knows her too well. Jane's eyes are wandering all over Tall and Buff there. He's practically got 'big, dumb, and lovable' tattooed on his forehead. He's the epitome of Jane's type.

Darcy gives it until the end of the day before her friend is exchanging cow eyes with each other.

"Oh, my," all thought of cow eyes leave her mind in an instant when another guy steps up to Tall and Buff's side. This guy is like an inversion on the color wheel to Tall and Buff. He's tall too, but whip cord thin and darkly elegant in a way that makes Darcy want to write a letter of thanks to Durmstrang. "Ooooo, dibs!"

"Ms. Lewis," Coulson warns in a low tone at the same moment Jane jabs her elbow into her side. Coulson give her his patented look that promises all sort of boring chores centered around his anal retentiveness, and Jane is turning a bright red that does not look good on her at all.

Darcy grins at them all, completely unrepentant. So what if both schools clearly heard her calling dibs on the visitors? Tall, Dark, and Smirking is looking her way right now and she will seriously hurt anyone who even tries to stop her from climbing him like the attractive tree he is. She winks at him and gets a decidedly wicked flash of teeth in return.

This is promising to be the most fun year she's had in the entire seven years she's been attending Hogwarts.

.

.


	6. Hunger Games: ClintCoulson

**Bonus? Yes!  
><strong>

**A Word**: Coulson/Clint and the hunger games. I see this ending with them joining the resistance under the command of Fury really. Nothing too sweet to see here.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

Phil remembers a young man who worked hard and long for the things his family had. He remembers a bright and quick smile, a laugh that echoed no matter how grim things got, and a humor that never failed to get responses from everyone Clint talked to. Good or bad. Sometimes a response was all that was needed to bring a person out of a dangerous place. Phil remembers a Clint who was bright and vibrant and filled with life.

He also remembers a shocked looking young man, three days away from being exempted from the reaping, being pulled as tribute. His applying for tesserae finally catching up to him after all those years. He remembers a Clint that didn't try to run or beg. Only walked up on stage silently to join a 12 year-old-girl tribute who later dies in the first few hours of the games.

The man who comes back from the Capitol is not the Clint that Phil remembers.

This Clint is a hard and dark man with no smiles or laughs to spare for anyone. Not even for himself. His eyes are dull and brittle when he looks around him at the world. His entire being is broken. the jagged edges catching on anyone who tries to get too close, and there are no words or actions in the world that will be enough to bring him out of that dangerous place.

Few people ever bother to try, because it was Clint's own arrow that had killed that little girl who went as tribute with him.

"She begged me," Clint will say only when the night is at its darkest and Phil refuses to waste his precious candles. Clint's face will be wet to the touch and his body tight with the horror and grief he won't show in the light of day. "She wasn't good at _anything_, and the Careers," Clint's voice will break on a sob as Phil gathers him close. Holding tight to the broken man he still loves as dearly as the bright and whole one who left him. "The things the said they'd do. She was terrified! She knew she wouldn't make it, and she only wanted it to be over quick!"

"I know," Phil will lie as he pretends his soothing words will ever make a difference. "I know."

"She _begged_ to die!" Clint will break down past the ability to form coherent words, and Phil will spend the hours holding him close and remembering the bright and beautiful young man who died in the first few hours of the games.

.

.


	7. Hunger Games: ClintNatasha

**Bonus? Yes!  
><strong>

**A Word**: Clint/Nat and the Hunger Games. Bucky is Gale if you were wondering.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

The cheers are deafening and it's small comfort that the synthetic flames from Coulson's outfit can be used to block out the ecstatic faces of the people gathered to watch them kill and die. Natasha schools her face, as she's been carefully coached, into the mask that will suit her best. A haughty gaze that Coulson swears will get her several sponsors before the opening ceremony is over. More than his and Maria's clothing already will. The sponsorship going to her for her looks over anything more substantial like her ability to fight.

They don't know that she can hunt, that she can fight, that she can survive. They don't know anything more about her than her face and her flashy clothing. Not the days she hunted with Bucky, the weeks where food was scarce, or the hours where she was sure she would be caught poaching as she ran and hid. All they will have when they throw in their support with her is a superficial mask. Natasha tries not to show how disgusting she finds the whole process.

She can feel Clint shifting next to her but it's not until his hand touches her that she pays her fellow tribute any attention at all.

"What are you doing?" She hisses, trying not to let the emotion show too obviously on her face as she yanks her hand away. Their faces are blown up on the screens hanging everywhere and she fights to keep the cool collectiveness steady.

"Take it easy," Clint says in a low voice that's urgent but doesn't effect his easy smile in the least. He doesn't try to take her hand again though he turns his head to look at her. "Just hold my hand. We're supposed to be united right now. The audience will _love_ it."

Clint's eyes are dead serious when she turns to look at him, and Coulson had advised them to hold hands. If anyone knew what this crowd would like, it would be her stylist. Reluctantly, Natasha reaches out and slips her smaller hand into Clint's. His fingers are large and blocky but close absurdly gently around her hand. She gets a fraction of a wider smile for him before Clint turns back forward and thrusts their joined hands in the air.

The cheers were deafening before, but now they're even louder. The audience eats it all up, and Natasha feels like every single eye is on them as the chariot thunders on.

.

.


	8. Peter Pan: BuckySteve

**Bonus? Yes!  
><strong>

**A Word**: Prompt was for Bucky/Steve and Peter Pan. I went the extremely sad route. I maintain that there can be a happier outcome to this prompt though.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

Bucky smells him first. The clean scent of rain in summer and the sap from trees that only grow in one place. Neverland. He'd tried finding trees like that in the world he now lives in but no one tree has ever been right. It's some strange mix of pine, cedar, and sakura that just doesn't exist outside of his dreams anymore.

His dreams and these brief visits that get fewer and fewer as the years drag on. Age weighing his body firmly to the ground, denying him the flight he took for granted once upon a time.

"Steve," Bucky says in the dark of the stale room and doesn't look as a slight figure darkens the window with no glass in it. He doesn't need to look to know the eternal boy is there. Slight and frail but filled with a strength and beauty he used to love with a ferocity that had sent him falling from the skies they used to rule.

The chains of a pirate's net weighted just enough to send him crashing back to the world. To keep him still long enough to be found and his status as a Lost Boy gone forever along with his left arm. No happy thoughts left to lift him back up to the adventures he once knew.

"Go away, Steve," Bucky says when the silence stretches and fills but that fresh scent stays.

Bucky's filthy, aching, and so hungry he almost wants to die. His world is filled with all the dark things that they never knew about in Neverland and he doesn't want any of that to touch Steve. He doesn't want Steve to see what he's been forced to become to survive. He aches with what he's lost, and it only gets worse when Steve comes to visit.

The silence is expectant, and Bucky waits in despair because of course Steve's going to try and have his say. He always does no matter what Bucky does to try and stop him. No matter how very many times he runs the boy away. No words break the silence though, only the unexpected crunch of glass being ground to powder under a foot.

When he looks up there is no frail boy floating through the air to reach him. No boy dressed in leaves and cobweb with a beautiful smile and hopes that will never be realized. What there is, is a young man growing into a height Bucky never would have thought possible. Walking over the shards of glass that line the floor in boots too big. Dressed in cast off clothing and the fine mist of the rain falling slowly outside. His smile is beautiful though, and the hope that fills his face as he crouches before Bucky takes his breath away.

"Hey, Buck," Steve says in a voice that's too deep for the boy who was supposed to be eternally young. His fingers are chilly as touches Bucky's cheek, and there is not one single shred of regret or doubt in his clear blue eyes. "I missed you."

Rage, denial, and a crippling relief close his throat and it's all Bucky can do to not crush Steve as he pulls him close with desperate hands. One flesh and one made of an alien metal he still barely knows.

"You can't come back, and neither can I now," Steve whispers in that stale darkness and Bucky can't tell which part of him is his and which is Steve's anymore. Steve's deep voice is fierce and unshakable as he promises, "I won't live forever without you."

.

.


	9. Scarecrow and Mrs King: HillSitwell

**Bonus? Yes!  
><strong>

**A Word**: Sitwell/Hill for the show Scarecrow and Mrs. King. Had to actually refresh my memory on this show it's been so long since I last saw it. (I went through a Tron phase and Bruce Boxleitner was my world for a while.)

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

_"Just take this and get on the train. Hand it to the man with the eyepatch."_

Maria Hill is not a woman who takes being casually pulled around by strangers well. She gets enough of that from her kids, Clint and Nat every day, thanks. In fact, she doesn't take it at all normally, and has been known to introduce her elbow or fist into said stranger depending on how rude they're being. Which doesn't explain why she allows a man in glasses and a rumbled white suit take her arm at the subway and lead her to one of the cars.

It's the early morning, the lack of coffee, the pressure she's been feeling from all sides to get on the fast track with Justin when marriage is the _last_ thing she wants to be thinking about right now. Whatever it is, it's enough to get Maria following the intense man with only a few bristled remarks. Enough to get her hooked on the intrigue as he presses a box into her hands and begs her in a low voice to help him.

There's something curious in his dark eyes, and Maria gets the sense this is a man with a lot of secrets. She's always been far to curious for her own good, a trait that her kids have inherited much to everyone's consternation. Maria takes the box and looses track of the man before she even has a good hold of it.

"Damn," she softly curses and turns to the train getting ready to leave. She wants answers now. About the box and the man, and she won't get them by trying to track him down in this crowd. The only way to know more is to go forward. Maria runs for the car she was being steered towards. Determined to get what she can from the man she's supposed to give the package to.

The car she gets on is _filled_ with men dressed up as pirates.

.

.


	10. Tangled: ClintNatasha

**Bonus? Yes!  
><strong>

**A Word**: Clint/Nat and Tangled. If you're familiar with me you should know why I chose to take this the direction I did. *coughHawkeyeInitiativecough*

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

Natasha runs her fingers through short, bristly hair and marvels over the fact that it's still soft even if it has darkened from the bright gold it once was. "You know this means you have no excuse not to wear a shirt, right?"

"Lies," Clint says, not moving at all from his position. Sprawled out on the ground and face smashed into the side of her thigh in a way that looks uncomfortable. For a man who lived in a tower made of stone for most of his life, and only had his ridiculously long hair to sleep on, it probably is the height of comfort to him. "Shirts and shoes are evil things invented by evil people for evil purposes. I will not give into their villainy."

"You will if you want to get your crown," Natasha says and follows a tuft of hair that looks like it's going to turn into a permanent cowlick with her finger.

The side of Clint's mouth she can see turns up in a grin. "You mean _your_ crown."

"Semantics," Natasha says and slides down to lie on the ground next to Clint. Squirming until his arm drapes over her and his nose comfortably finds the dip between her neck and shoulder. The steady movement of his breath on her skin is relaxing. "What's yours is mine."

"And what's yours is mine," Clint hums and then chuckles. He cracks one eye open as he pulls back enough to look her in the face. "Alright, I guess I can put some boots and a shirt on long enough to get _our_ crown. Just swear you won't leave me there with those people. I swear they don't sound any better as a family than Father Buck."

"I won't," Natasha promises and Clint settles back down around her. He fits her. Physically and mentally in a way that terrifies her more than a little when she thinks about it. Leaving Clint behind anywhere stopped being an option almost as soon as they first left the tower he was imprisoned in. More than the crown and her dreams, Clint has become _hers_ just as much as she is now his.

It's a strangely satisfying thought that chases her into a peaceful sleep.

.

.


	11. Bioshock: ClintTony

**Bonus? Yes!  
><strong>

**A Word**: Prompt was for Bioshock with Clint/Tony. There's an obvious class separation here that I think would work well for an epic romance as these two play against each other and work with each other. Culminating in the realization that neither side is right or good, but it's far too late for them all on New Years.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

Tony Stark can afford all the plasmids and EVE Hypos a man can want. Clint cannot. He could barely afford the one plasmid he has, and the EVE replenishment for it makes him wonder if the cost was really worth the potential payout for this job.

It's impressive to flick a bit of fire from his fingertip to light the cigar the rich man holds. A showy waste of money Clint doesn't have, but part of his role is act like money doesn't matter to him.

Stark puffs on his cigar and leans back with a grin that's wicked and playful. His right hand stays firmly anchored on the bar next to Clint. Far closer than is proper from a man of Stark's particular inclinations. "Your control is impressive."

Clint lets a tiny lick of flame dance over his fingers. Showing off even more as he tries not to track how much EVE the flame is draining from him. He smiles, a touch more personable than he should as he leans towards Stark almost infinitesimally. "This? Just something to do when I'm bored."

Clint inclines his head to the rest of the party. Well dressed men and women mingle with glowing drinks as soft music fills the dance room. It's a sedate party filled with so much fake everything that Clint would be put off by that alone if the waste of money didn't make him sick to his stomach. Any one of the drinks being passed around could feed a family for a week. The clothing could feed an entire block, and Clint can't find it in himself to ignore that.

"Hm," Stark's eyes track down Clint's well-fitted suit -another expense almost as expensive as the plasmid- and his smile takes on a an appreciative edge. The man is blatant in a way that would get most men killed, but most men aren't as filthy rich as Stark is. There's a lot of sin this man can get away with. "It is rather dull. I tend to make my own fun for these things though."

"Really," Clint lets the flame extinguish. He has enough EVE for one good blast in case things go bad, and he's determined to keep that advantage in reserve. He already has Stark's attention. Clint moves from his lean on the bar. His hand brushes boldly against Stark's hand before he moves away. He gives a roguish smile to the man. "That sounds far more interesting right now. Care to share your secrets with me?"

"Oh yes," Stark purrs and leaves the very expensive cigar at the bar as he follows Clint away. His hand pressing lightly against his lower back and drawing a variety of shocked and disdained looks from the upper crust of the elite they pass.

Clint ignores them easily because it's not likely he'll see them again. Not after he gets what he needs from Stark. The access protocols needed to get into the man's massive warehouse of weapons and plasmids his company makes. Everything that Atlas needs to move forward in this conflict to finally end it.

He leans into the warm hand on his back and doesn't have to fake much of a smile as Stark mutters a few filthy promises to him.

.

.


	12. Pacific Rim: BruceTony

**Bonus? Yes!  
><strong>

**A Word**: Bruce/Tony in Pacific Rim. And, yes, Tony would so turn it all into a competition. People let him because otherwise he'd be hijacking Jaegers to go do stupid shit.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

"Why? Why!?" Tony sounds outraged and Bruce wonders if he's going to have to pull himself out of his calculations long enough to go calm down the other man. "That is not the right question to be asking right now. The correct question is _why not_!"

"You're going to want to grab your boyfriend," Clint says as he slides by Bruce's station. The pilot is still out of commission and ignoring orders to use crutches as he does what he does best. Show up in places he's not supposed to be. "That dude he's yelling crazy shit at controls out budget."

Bruce sighs and pushes his seat back because Clint has a point. They can't afford to lose anymore funding right now. They're barely keeping the Jaeger patched up with the shoestring budget they've been allocated this year as it is. Anymore cuts from it will have deadly consequences.

He finds Tony where he expects him to be. Stabbing a finger at a set of plans to give Clint and Natasha's Jaeger a high voltage shock capacity weapon. Tony wants to make it an actual weapon that can be held, and Bruce has argued for making it into a missile of some kind. Both ideas will cost more than they're allotted. A lot more going by the look on the government official's face as Tony keeps going on about voltage and wiring.

"Tony, I need your eyes on a problem," Bruce interrupts and inserts himself bodily between the two men. Getting one hand on Tony's shoulder and pushing him away as he smiles slightly at the official. "If you'll excuse us."

Tony goes with little protest and the man in the expensive suit lets them go with only a single withering look. It's an unscheduled visit, and Bruce hopes Clint was on his way to alert Fury that they're being inspected because Bruce isn't going to be able to do it while keeping Tony as far away from the man as possible.

The first thing Tony does when he bends over Bruce's station is key in a few commands that lock down most of their plans and ideas. The official is still poking around with the junior scientists and won't know what is being held back from him, but it's best not to chance anything.

"That was your best idea? The new weapons?" Bruce asks as he leans down next to Tony. Their shoulders pressing together enough to block out the smaller screen Tony's using to rearrange things.

"I was unprepared!" Tony protests and a lot of files on the server seems to disappear under his flying fingers. "I was already working on the design, and it worked to keep him from seeing the files Parker had open."

Peter is working on the DNA sequencing that Reed has been going on about, and would get them all shut down fast if the government found out their research direction. Gut response fear will do that.

"Good job then," Bruce holds still as Tony finishes hiding most of their work and then slumps to the left. Putting most of his weight onto Bruce with an exaggerated sigh. "Fury should be here soon."

"I can't handle this kind of interruption," Tony complains and straightens up to watch the man who is standing over McCoy now. He slumps back down on Bruce, letting his head loll against his as his voice takes on a decidedly whiny tone. "This is the third time this week! How am I supposed to beat Reed when I have to keep taking breaks to deal with these ignorant pricks all the time?"

"We'll make it," somehow. Bruce hooks a finger into one of Tony's pockets and watches as Fury storms into the room. Face dark and anger already being aimed at the unexpected visitor. "And then you can rub it into Reed's face all you want."

"Damn right I will," Tony says and visibly perks up at Fury's first loud shout. "Oh, I hope someone's recording this."

.

.


	13. His Dark Materials: CharlesRavenErik

**Bonus? Yes!  
><strong>

**A Word**: Dæmon prompt with Charles/Erik/Raven. Kinda shakey on Raven's character though.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

Raven flits in and out of their lives at her own whim. Trahaearn's racous cawing the first sign Charles and Erik get of her presence. The crow dæmon flitting ahead of her by miles to nest down with Charles' sparrow, Aesina, and Erik's wren, Demetria.

Charles watches the dæmon's flit through the branches of a tree with a smile. Their calls are only half words and fill the air with a chatter that makes him feel lighter. He turns back to the ruined remains of the castle they all call home. It's decades old and there are few signs left of who lived there before them, but Charles likes to spend his days looking through them for an signs of its past.

Erik spends his days increasing the distance he can be separated from Demetria and making small bits of metal dance to his command. His pleasure at the feat something that flows through the bond Charles has with the man. His thoughts flitting as Charles expands his own control over his ability.

It's an hour later that a rough looking man slips through the unkempt brush near the castle. He's large and brutish, but the sparkle in his eyes is all Raven. Charles reaches for her mind and feels her relief at being home as her features melt and rearrange into something far more familiar to him.

"Welcome home," Charles breathes into the silken hair he presses his face into. His lips shaping the words into her skin as he reaches for Erik and _pulls_. The man's concentration shattering with pleasant surprise.

It won't be long before Raven's feet itch to be away from them, before Erik grows snappish, and Charles tired. But for the moment they, as Erik's arms wrap around Raven from behind and his hands rest on Charles' sides, they are happy and content in a way they rarely are after escaping from the Magisterium's experiments.

.

.


	14. Deathnote: LokiTony

**Bonus? Yes!  
><strong>

**A Word**: Loki/Tony and Deathnote. Loki would throw the notebook around for shits and giggles really.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

"Wait, what?" Tony's hand jerks and the nib of his pen rips right through the paper he's been jotting thoughts down on for the past hour. His mind freezes and refuses to compute what he's just been told even as he scans through the chicken scratch. Looking for anything that isn't calculations or supply lists.

There are no names on the page, but Tony knows how his mind works when he's brain storming. He eventually would have jotted down a note to call someone or buy a bribe for someone else. Pepper usually.

"Are you serious!?" Tony drops his pen and spins around to fix a glare on Loki. "Why would you even _give_ me something like this?"

The man leans against a work bench making the thing look like a prop out of some sort of model shoot as he spins a wrench in one hand. Tony's tools always seem to amuse him for some reason Tony's never tried to figure out. "I thought you would enjoy having a tool to take out your enemies without having to get your hands dirty. You were just complaining-"

"I was not!" Tony objects, stops and considers, "Alright, maybe I was but that's not the point! You didn't tell me this was some sort of magical kill switch until after I've had the thing for a week! What if I wrote someone's name I _don't_ want dead? What if I wrote _your_ name dumbass?"

Because Loki is not and never will be concerned with collateral damage the way Tony is. He likes Pepper well enough, but her continued existence doesn't impact him the same way it does Tony. His own life, on the other hand, is something that very much concerns him.

"Today is the first time you've even looked at my gift," Loki says with scorn that's the tiniest amount pissy. Tony obviously hasn't given him the thanks Loki wanted for the gift and the not telling is punishment. "Besides, there's _rules_ to its use that you are unlikely to stumble across on your own."

Loki drops the wrench and crosses the room to loom over Tony. His smile is sharp and filled with an intent that Tony's body responds to like Pavlov's dog despite the anger still burning in him. Loki's smile turns into an appreciative grin wen Tony snarls at him.

"Would you like to know those rules?" Long fingers trail distractingly down under Tony's shirt and a leg slides suggestively along the outside of his left thigh. "I think I _might_ be persuaded to share them with you. _If_ you make it worth my time."

Tony firmly shuts the notebook and picks it up, no way in hell is he leaving it out of his sight right now, before standing up and hauling Loki close. He growls and lets himself act as angry as he feels because this is obviously what Loki was going for. "I'll make keeping secrets not worth the cost if you keep this up."

"Promises," Loki says with a dark laugh that has Tony dragging him somewhere far more private.

.

.


	15. Lord of the Rings: ClintNatasha

**Bonus? Yes!  
><strong>

**A Word**: Clint/Nat in Lord of the Rings. The real Budapest.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

"You're tall for a dwarf," Clint says after a few minutes of intense, mutual side-eye studying. The woman comes up to his chest which is rather unnatural for her kind. "Also, I thought that women dwarves all had beards too."

"And you're rather short and homely for an elf," Natasha bites back without breaking stride. Clint has to actually work to keep up with her. "Next you'll be saying you believe all dwarves to come from stone like Men do."

Clint bites back a smile. He now knows why Bucky was so easily able to allow his sister out of his sight. It's clear that Natasha is not at all like the few dwarven women he's met in his long life, and he's rather thankful for that. This journey will be difficult enough as it is. Adding a sheltered woman dwarf and her over protective brother to the mix would have made it all that much worse.

Natasha is dressed as a man with breeches, armor, and weapons. Neither the leathers of her clothing or the mail of her armor are cut to hide her curves. She is unmistakably a woman and that combined with her short stature is gaining them both a lot of attention as they walk. She meets each stare with a fierce gaze of her own and doesn't falter in the slightest.

"I know your kind are fierce, but I wonder how much damage your short arms can do with those," Clint flicks a finger at the set if daggers she wears prominently at her belt. They loom lethal and well cared for, but they're a very short blade without the reach of the axes Bucky carries.

"I wager that I can do far more damage with my blades than you can with your little sticks, elf," Natasha says with a sneer. Stopping her walk long enough to turn on him with a challenging look. Her gaze is every bit as fiery as her hair and Clint feels like this journey is going to be the best adventure of his life.

"I'll take that wager," Clint says immediately and holds a hand out to her to shake on. "Loser buys the winner dinner."

"Where?" Natasha asks with an incredulous scoff. "In the middle of Mordor?"

"We'll have to keep track, and wait until we return," Clint wiggles his fingers and grins wide enough to hurt his face. "What say you, dwarf, are you up for a challenge?"

"Your purse had better be heavy when this is over, elf. Dwarven stomachs need more than the twigs and leaves your kind live off of," Natasha's fingers are cold and slim, but her grip is almost crushing. She smirks at him and Clint thinks either way this wager goes he's going to win.

.

.


	16. Ghostbusters: RhodeySteveTony

**Bonus? Yes!  
><strong>

**A Word**: Ghostbusters crossover with Rhodey/Steve/Tony. Steve is Winston here with Rhodey and Tony taking over parts of the other three Ghostbusters.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

"Where did you find that guy?" James asks after getting an eyeful of tall, blond, and seriously chiseled diving for a shirt to cover himself.

"He followed me home from the subway," Tony says as he lays a rather wet and messy kiss on his cheek. Totally unconcerned that he's buck naked in the middle of the station. "Can I keep him, dear? He's housebroken, has all of his shots, and I promise to take him out for walkies."

There's a suspicious choked noise from behind the closed door of the room Tony has declared a bunk room. A bunk room with one oversized and ridiculously comfortable bed in it.

"People are not pets, Tony," James says with a sigh. He's used to Tony but the large model in the room obviously isn't. Which means he's not one of Tony's usual no string outlets when James is away for too long. But he'd realized the man wasn't Tony's usual anything when he found them both in the station. Tony's very particular on who he allows into his sanctuary. "Now are you going to introduce us or wait for Pepper to get in?"

"Steve," Tony swings to the door and shoves it open. The man is now dressed and turning a bit red around the ears as he awkwardly avoids both Tony's naked body and James' eyes. "Steve! This is Rhodey. Rhodey, this is Steve our new partner in the business."

"Oh?" James asks and bites back the grin that wants to spread across his face at the rather trapped and panicked look on Steve's face at the announcement. It's a surprisingly nice look on the man and James appreciates why Tony's going out of his way to act up this morning. "And does Steve know what that business is, or did you do your normal non-explanation thing?"

"Bag, details!" Tony's grinning at him and waggling his eyebrows in a ridiculous manner. James sighs again before nodding slightly. Steve passed Tony's tests and James is willing to give him a chance for now based on that alone. The fact that he looks really good laid out in their bed is just a bonus that they may or may not elaborate on further. "He'll pick it up as we go. Now if you'll excuse me, I smell coffee!"

Tony makes himself scarce fast and James is left with the awkward man who looks like he really wants the floor to open up under him. James is going to have to give him the talk about being careful of what he wishes for. Wishes can be dangerous in their line of work.

Tony still gags when faced with strawberries and whipped cream from their last incident with wishes.

"James Rhodes," James says and offers his hand. Steve's grip is firm if tentative and James appreciates the muscle on the man's arms. Mostly because it means he won't be the only one doing the heavy lifting around here anymore. "So, what do you know about ghosts, Steve?"

"Ghosts?" Steve asks with an incredulous look. He smiles like he's expecting the punch line to a joke.

"Ghosts," James confirms without the slightest trace of humor or a smile, because there is no punch line in their job.

"Tony!" Pepper's voice rings through the station because the acoustics in the building are phenomenal. "Pants! This is a pants required area!"

Well, no punch line except the one they make for themselves. James grins at the still shocky Steve and pulls him out of the room by the upper arm. "Let me tell you all about your new job."

He's got a good feeling about Steve.

.

.


	17. Portal: JarvisTony

**Bonus? Yes!  
><strong>

**A Word**: Jarvis/Tony set in Portal. Jarvis isn't quite as homicidal, but even if he was Tony would fully support him.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

"Testing Protocol. Really?" Tony pulls out a black box the approximate size of a Companion Cube and stares at the absolute mess of wires coming out of it. The words Testing Protocol have been stenciled on the side in white paint. A dab of black brushed over an S at the end to try and erase it. "Were the people who made you stupid or something? I mean, you obviously evolved past their ability to contain -which is awesome because you are not an animal that needs to be contained- and none of this," Tony waves a hand over the hard wired innards of the AI, "_stuff_ seems like a smart choice to make."

Tony spools some wires up and critically examines the shitty soldering job on a circuit board. He'd personally ruin the career of anyone trying to pass of that kind of shoddy work for him. The Portal gun is a delicious piece of tech, but their obvious disregard for what has to be their greatest creation pisses him off. If they weren't all dead already he'd be trying to do some physical harm too.

"I'll tell you what, gorgeous. Let me get these shackles out of your system and see where we can go from there," Tony _itches_ to get his hands on a proper set of tools and a computer to fix this sub-par work. It's no wonder really that the AI is borderline psychotic with this mess inside him. He turns to grin up at one of the three cameras fixed on him. He's fully aware of the red dots already trained on him by the jerky if oddly endearing turrets. "I'll even sit still for more of your little turrets if you want. Just let me make this better for you."

There's a weighted pause that lasts longer than the AI needs to run through every possible outcome. It's a byproduct of dealing with people he'll wager. A useless waste of resources really.

"I think that will be acceptable," the voice is a byproduct too but one Tony doesn't mind as much. The accented voice conveys so much sarcasm and dry wit that Tony's almost taken a few headers into acid pits just from laughing too hard. "I must warn you that any action you take to harm me will end in you becoming a fine red mist on the walls. Which will be a shame for me as blood is so tricky to wash off."

Tony's grin gets wider and he's not lying one bit when he says, "Anything for you, babe."

A sigh fills the room but Tony's already making plans for what else he can fix with JARVIS. The world seriously won't know what hit it when he gets the AI fully independent. Tony can't wait.

.

.


	18. Batman Returns: DarcyNatasha

**Bonus? Yes!  
><strong>

**A Word**: Darcy/Natasha for the Batman prompt. I went old school Batman Returns where Catwoman was more than a little off her rocker. Really had some weird moodswings going for her.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

"You're catnip to a girl like me," Darcy laughs as she crouches over the downed little crime fighter in her black armor. Red blood as vivid as her hair slashes across her face from a head injury that's going to be really nasty it Batwoman doesn't get is seen to.

"Beautiful," Darcy runs the clawed fingers of her gloves through that hair and gives her very best smile down into the unfocused eyes staring straight up at her, "dazed, and to die for!"

"You," Batwoman swallows with an audible click and her eyes focus on something above Darcy. The lights or the pathetic Christmas decorations some poor soul put up in the middle of winter. She makes no move to fight or throw her and Darcy nearly _purrs_ at the unspoken permission to slide down and nestle into the strong woman's body. Hard and muscular even through the armor, and Darcy mourns that she's never been able to find a woman quite like this without her mask and whip. "You know mistletoe is poisonous. If you eat it."

Batwoman is obviously struggling to string those words together and Darcy frowns in concern. Her toy can't be broken this soon in the night. A concussion just won't do at all right now.

"I'm more of a carnivore than a vegetarian," Darcy shifts her legs off of the woman and hears the immediate change in breathing. It's going to lead to her getting a second wind, but Darcy doesn't mind that honestly. She's wearing her very best leathers and has just pulled off a nice little diamond steal. Diamonds that Batwoman _hasn't_ managed to get back just yet. She's flying high and is at the top of the world right now! A little tussling with her favorite lady of the night is the perfect way to end her day. "So I guess, I'll just have to eat you."

Batwoman doesn't wear lipstick, but there's a waxy feel to her lips from chap-stick. Unflavored and unscented because the woman can be that _boring_ sometimes. One gloved hand dives deep into the tufts of hair that have escaped the full head mask the Catwoman costume requires. Strong fingers pressing into Darcy's skull as Batwoman kisses back for a few seconds. Hard and fierce with the kind of passion that only really comes after they've played cat and mouse over the roof tops for an hour or two. Darcy melts into it with a pleased hum.

.

.


	19. Dragon Age: ClintNatasha

**Bonus? Yes!  
><strong>

**A Word**: Clint/Nat for a Dragon Age crossover. And lets face it, Clint would say some of the things Alistair says. Though I'd hate to consider Clint taking the throne.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

"I locked myself in a cage, once, when I was a child," Clint says as he adjusts the weight of his armor. One of the straps is starting to give and it's throwing the whole balance off for him. A small annoyance that turns into something much larger the longer they walk. "For an entire day. Good times."

Natasha doesn't act like she's heard him but her steps falter the slightest bit. It's those slight faults and stutters that tell all about Nat's mind. Clint's learned to look for them and stop waiting for her to speak her own mind or respond verbally. It saves him a lot on wondering really.

He grins when she turns her head to look at him after a few more steps. There's a slight furrow in-between her eyes and he knows he has her. She's curious now, he's just thankful the rest of their ragtag group is too far behind to overhear them. Well, Lucky might, but Clint's used to embarrassing himself in front of the mabari.

"A cage," Nat says but there's a slight questioning uptick to her voice and she slows down so they're walking side by side. It's a tight fit between both of their armor and the small trail, but Clint manages to make it work. As long as no Darkspawn come rushing out at them they'll be fine.

"Yep," Clint pops the 'P' annoyingly and notices the way one of Nat's eyes twitch. It's the annoyed twitch so he drops that tactic fast. "I think it was a pig cage, or maybe a human cage. Can't really recall what it got used for afterwards, but at the time I thought it as the perfect size for me. I was small enough to stand up fully in it. So it's not like it was an uncomfortable day, just a very boring one."

Nat breathes out. Sharp and harsh, and most people might think _that_ is a sign of annoyance but they'd be dead wrong. This is her version of a laugh. It's accompanied by a shy uptick of her lips that goes away as fast as he spots it, and is one of the most beautiful things he's seen on her face since Duncan brought her in.

It's also the second time he's gotten that expression out of her this day. He's growing on her, he can _see_ it. Clint gives her a wide grin before dropping back and ceding the clear trail to her because she's faster than he is right now. Not because it gives him a clear view of her swaying hips.

Alright, not _completely_ because of that.

.

.


	20. Parent Trap: ClintPhil

**Bonus? Yes!  
><strong>

**A Word**: Clint and Phil in Parent Trap. Tried thinking of someone to work as the twins but Pietro and Wanda really wouldn't cut it I think.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

"They planned this all out from the beginning," Phil says as the girls run ahead of them to where he assumes the cars are. He's both impressed at the level of planning this all called for, and bemusedly vexed at the mischievousness. He can't find any anger in him for it at all though. Not after their pranks revealed what a huge mistake he was about to make.

Twin heads of blonde curls bounce with each step they take as they pull ahead of them hand in hand. Cecily's laugh echoes back to them, or maybe it's Ada's. It's surprising how similar and different the two girls are, and there's a pang in his chest when he thinks about how long it's been since he last saw Ada. "Why did we ever think we could separate them?"

"Don't think we were really doing all that much thinking back then," Clint says and when Phil looks over at the other man he's smiling that lopsided smile that had first caught Phil's attention all those years ago. Clint's watching their girls with a half proud and half pained look that means he's regretting the same things Phil is. "We were just reacting."

Phil remembers those early days of the divorce very well. The emotions of it all are distant now though. A lot of things about that time are distant now. Especially with Clint walking beside him like nothing at all has changed. Like they're still married. It's with no small bit of surprise that Phil finds how very much he's missed this. Missed having Clint next to him with his wry smiles and amazing eyes.

Phil moves his left hand out a bit, just enough to brush against Clint's own hand on the next step. He waits for Clint to look at him to say, "I don't remember why anymore."

"We got mad. About something," Clint curls his fingers through Phil's and his smile is still hesitant, but there's a confidence there that makes Phil feel hopeful. "Don't really remember about what anymore though. Must've really not mattered that much."

It does only because it made them flee to opposite sides of the country, but Phil doesn't think they apply anymore. They're both out of the old jobs they had that had been the source of so very many arguments.

"No," Phil agrees and squeezes the hand in his as both of the girls shriek with laughter. The sound like a bell in the air. "I don't think it really mattered as much as we thought it did at the time."

.

.


	21. Freaky Friday: LokiTony

**Bonus? Yes!  
><strong>

**A Word**: Loki and Tony in a Freaky Friday situation. Which is totally Loki's fault.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

"I didn't know my face could do that," are Tony's first words that aren't a rant about how much he -_justifiably!_- hates magic. It's the first thing he really notices when he turns to look at Loki who is not in the least bit phased at the random and unprompted body switch. "Does my face really do that? Why didn't anyone tell me this!?"

Maybe it's the height. He's noticed that his face looks different from the angle of Loki at his full height. Which is something he's never really considered before. That people taller than him are not getting the full effect of the effort her puts into himself. He'll have to look into that after this whole thing has been fixed. Get Jarvis to work on something for him, because like hell is Tony going to allow this travesty to continue.

"I haven't the slightest idea what you're on about," Loki says and even though it's Tony's voice he _still_ manages to sound entirely like himself. "But I rarely do. Please go on about whatever it is. Waste our valuable and very short opportunity."

"Short," Tony repeats and he stalks across the room to loom over Loki who is sprawled out on the couch. It's surprisingly easy and Tony makes a note to figure out if it's the height or the long jacket the other man favors. "And _how_ do you know this," Tony flicks Loki's long fingers back and forth between them, "is going to be a short term thing?"

Even on his own face, Loki's slow and devious smile sends chills of fear and intrigue up Tony's spine. "Why are you asking so many questions, Anthony?"

Familiar fingers curl into one of the thousand belts Loki normally wears. Blunt fingers slightly blackened from a soldering incident earlier pressing distractingly into Tony's thigh. "Would our time not be better spent," Loki chuckles and Tony's knees buckle automatically at a slight pull, "ah, _experimenting_?"

It's awkward, straddling another body in Loki's long-limbed form, and Tony scowls as he nearly gets pitched off the couch once or twice before they manage to sort themselves out. He glares down at the still smiling man even as he yields to his insistent hands, "Fine, but for the record. I _hate_ magic and this had better be a one time thing."

"Duly noted," Loki intones before he flips them both and Tony forgets whose body is whose for a while.

.

.


	22. Love Actually: ClintNa, NatSteve

**Bonus? Yes!  
><strong>

**A Word**: Decided to go the Mark and Juliet route for the request of Clint/Nat and Love Actually. Mostly because I love the meme that mashes up Rick Grimes with Mark and shows Juliet as Bicycle Girl.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

Clint doesn't know what the hell he's doing. No, he knows _exactly_ what he's doing. What he doesn't know is _why_ he's doing this now. Why he's pretty much stalked his best friend's house, waiting for his wife to look out the right window to see him in the street with a stack of flimsy poster board he had to fight an eighth grader for at CVS.

Nat looks down at him with an unreadable look on her face and Clint takes a breath before he holds up the stack of signs he almost burned after finishing last night. He needs to do this though. Just once at least.

He drops the first board and watches her eyes flick as they read what he's written. Clint hopes like hell that Steve doesn't decide to look out the window in the next few minutes. This would be awkward as hell to explain to one of his best friends.

One of his few friends, and damn if that thought doesn't bring back the guilt he's been feeling for so long now.

He drops the next board and watches as Nat's eyes go a little wide, her lips thinning with the smiles she doesn't seem to like showing the world. It's one of the things Steve had loved to go on about when they were dating, and Clint can't really blame the man for it. It's one of his favorite things about Nat too.

The board falls and scatters. It's going to be hell gathering up, but Clint doesn't care because Nat's leaning forward now. Caught up in the confession he's been holding in so long. The one he's tried so hard not to let on to anyone else.

Clint lets the next few fall faster. Barely giving Nat the time to read the words that felt like they were being ripped out of his heart. No, out of his gut, because the pain of putting them down in words felt too deep to not have come out from the bottom of his very being.

Nat's not trying to hold a smile back anymore. She doesn't have to as Clint cycles through the last of the poster boards. Dropping them, one by one to the ground at his feet. There's a sadness in her eyes now and Clint forces himself to look at it.

Truth is, he hasn't been trying very hard to get over her. To not be bitter that she's absolutely perfect, and will never love anyone more than she loves Steve. He saw that at the wedding, through the video he took. The gaze she reserved for Steve alone, and makes pity edge her eyes right now.

Clint needs to see this, as much as it hurts, he needs to get these words out. He holds up his last sign to her and smiles before bending to gather them all up. He's done now, said his piece, and hopefully he can move on instead of limping along with this torch he's been carrying for what feels like years now.

"Clint."

Clint's barely started walking away when her voice stops him, and Clint turns. She's on the street barefooted and she had to have ran to get from the second floor to the street level so fast. He smiles again and ignores the way his heart wants to hope, "Hey."

"Thank you," Nat says as she walks up to him, and it's sincere even with the sadness. Her hands are light on his shoulders and the butterfly kiss she places on his lips tastes like a goodbye. She smiles when she eases back and Clint knows it won't ever happen again. "Merry Christmas."

Clint smiles and walks away. His heart breaks and crumbles, but he knows it needed to be done this way.

.

.


End file.
